


La Perla (or substitution as approved by Stark)

by CodenameCarrot



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Attempt at Humor, Chantilly Lace, Corsetry, Crossdressing, F/M, Kiki de Montparnasse, La Perla, Lingerie, Luxury, Men in Ladies Underwear, Panty Sniffing, Silk - Freeform, Slice of Life, The Hulk Speaks Portuguese, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark-centric, Tony Stark: Lunatic Billionaire Fairy Godmother, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/pseuds/CodenameCarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the third richest person in the world, Tony Stark wouldn't be caught dead with his lovers in something as pedestrian as Victoria's Secret. Hell, he wasn't about to let anyone he invited to live in his tower defile it with that mass-produced crap.</p><p>Or: Five times Tony Stark procured intimate apparel for the Avengers and the one time it was procured for him.</p><p>Or: The gift fic no-one asked for, but I wrote anyway.</p><p>
  <i><em>Note: Rating has been reduced to TEEN.</em> While Tony Stark is an unrepentant pervert in this slice-of-life style 5+1; it is certainly less raunchy than <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1082711">Coyote Ugly (PG-13)</a> and I don't think it's any more explicit than most YA fantasy & SF.<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unstable Molecules by Tom Ford

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valeris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeris/gifts), [Ellidfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/gifts), [Jaune_Chat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/gifts), [ladygray99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/gifts), [Axilef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axilef/gifts), [Raliena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raliena/gifts), [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/gifts).



> Each of chapter contains a short dedication to these authors and links to their work.
> 
> * * *
> 
> In writing this I wanted to limit myself to the shops of New York City. While it's within Tony's ability to fly to London or Paris on a whim, the Avengers would be a bit more resistant. It's easier to ignore the wealth behind a black-car and on-call driver for a cross-town trip. I also wanted to avoid "high end" shops that are anything but (I'm looking at you, Victoria's Secret), and focus on those that work in real materials (silk, cotton, and linen) at the most exacting quality levels. I remember once seeing a pair of agent provacateur panties that appeared to be a poly mesh with mass-machined embroidery. For the same price you can have a panty in stretch silk charmeuse. I know what I think is sexier. 
> 
> If you'd like to read more, I found this link very useful for exposing me to the classiest (and most risqué) intimate apparel for women: 
> 
> <http://www.quora.com/Underwear/What-lingerie-brand-is-sexier-than-Victorias-Secret>
> 
> And while it does have some dead links and more time spent on boxers than I needed, this link was a view into the word of high-end men's undergarments:
> 
> [ http://www.gentlemansgazette.com/underwear-guide/ ](http://www.gentlemansgazette.com/underwear-guide/)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Valeris for all her beautiful work surrounding Darcy Lewis, and for her repeated use of a Reed Richards who is exactly the sort of high-functioning dick I've met all too often among men at world-famous engineering schools.

_"Throw away your old underwear and socks every six months." - Tom Ford_

* * *

"Hey, yeah, I've got a bit of a challenge, mm-hmm, no - not for me, I've got this friend who turns into a giant green rage monster. Yep. Murder on clothes."

Tony grinned at Bruce. Not that the physicist was looking at him, but he clearly _felt_ it, if the way he tightened his fingers in his hair was any indication.

"Tony, who are you talking to?" Bruce mumbled into his lap.

"Tom Ford."

"Tony, why?" Reed Richards all but accused.

"Tom, I'm really sorry about this, but I'm gonna have to put you on hold for a minute. Mmm-hmm. Bit of a thing here. Yeah; that'd be great. _Caio_." Business concluded, not postponed, he turned his full attention to Dr. Richards.

"Well, _Reed_ , your work in materials science may be unparalleled - and I wish that wasn't true, because I'm enjoying your presence about half as much as you seem to love being here - but you don't even make the top quartile when it comes to fashion."

"So says the man in a red metal suit," Reed sneered. 

"Don't knock the suit, it's won more design awards you ever have," Tony singsonged, "aaaaand that's true even if we limit it to the annual CFDA award for superhero costume design."

"You-"

"You two are not five," Bruce said mildly, his eyes dangerously green. "I want us to all sit down and work on this, _in silence_ until we get somewhere. And _then_ we can talk about it."

* * *

Tony had moved past shame a long time ago. When you were in the news from the time you were four, privacy was a quaint concept. At this point, JARVIS was curating more than one YouTube channel devoted to him. But Bruce? Bruce still blushed when he was out without a shirt. Not because he was ashamed of his body, but because he was ashamed of exposing himself to someone who'd rather not see. What Bruce didn't seem to realise was that the would-be serum did more than create the Hulk, it had made him built. _Everyone_ wanted to see that. 

Hell, the Bugle had even taken a page from the UK and started running the "page three scientist" as a weekly feature in the Tuesday science section. 

For Bruce, Tony would have sued; he would have lost, but he would have sued. Except. Except, paradoxically, newsworthy photos in a public location never got any less attention when you did that; and (because the briefs only stretched from from scientist to Hulk) there would always be more pictures. 

A solution was needed badly enough to call in Reed Richards.

* * *

Even with Reed 'helping,' they were no closer to finding it when JARVIS announced that the gentleman Mr. Ford had sent was on his way up. The elevator opened to reveal a slim young man in the ubiquitous black turtleneck and slacks that served as the uniform of fashion designers everywhere, a brass rat gold-bright against hands that glowed like stained cherry-wood.

"Rafael!" Tony welcomed him, "How long have you been working with Tom?"

"I came back East a little over a year ago," Rafael answered, as he began to unpack a satchel.

While the others stared, a friendship between Tony and a twenty-something fashion designer seemed unlikely at best, the two caught up. Honestly, it shouldn't have been surprising: Tony was a _Stark_ , he could network the fuck out of anything. They learned that Rafael's family in _Brasil_ was doing well, _irmãzinha_ followed in his footsteps - she just sent in her acceptance to MIT. No, he didn't leave the Van Dyne label because of Hank Pym, the man was perfectly civil. It was just Tom Ford landed the SHIELD contract, heading it up was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and, honestly, have you seen what you so-called superheroes are wearing? There's a real _need_ on the East Coast--

"And you think you can help?" Reed sneered, and yeah, it was clear the man went to Caltech.

"Reed, I'd like to introduce you to Rafael Martins, Course 3. Janet poached him right off Killian Court, cap, gown and all, because of his master's thesis on the use of oasis elements to enhance metamorphic textiles."

"Rafael, this is Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, pioneer of unstable molecules."

"An honor sir, I found your early work with Promethium isotopes as a dynamic substrate invaluable."

Reed settled at the praise, although Tony couldn't help but mouth "kiss ass." He received a wink and dramatic smooch to thin in air in reply. Being the scientist in the middle of a creative industry had certainly cultivated Rafael's diplomacy: he was unflinching even when Reed stretched out his neck to peer over his shoulder. Rafael kept up a steady string of questions interspersed with praise as he caught up, calming the stiflingly tense atmosphere that had hung over the workshop.

* * *

It still took four days, four fifteen-hour days, to produce a textile that could expand to fit the Hulk without plastic failure at maximum dimensions and with a self-regulating neutral state. (The cloth that just kept shrinking as the ambient gamma radiation decreased was amusing, but no-one - _no-one_ \- wanted that wrapped around them.)

Reed walked out when both Tony and Rafael complained about all they could make were a half dozen variations on the colour purple. 

The fifth day had an exponential increase in the number of paper airplanes and double entendres (both courtesy of Tony Stark) and available materials (courtesy of JARVIS). They were all purple. Even the rigid-fibre shell intended as _athletic support_ \- which was technically a saturated foam _using a completely different mechanism_ to change size - was a light lavender. 

Still, if they were working with purple then they were working with purple. Tony built his first suit in a cave, so he appreciated having _anything_ to work with.

* * *

On the sixth day Tony learned that the Hulk spoke Portuguese. 

For all it surprised Tony, Rafael had expected it. One minute he was piecing modesty plates over the nuclear physicist's substantial package, the next he was doing so for the even more substantial package of the Hulk. He cursed, Tony could recognize cursing in over two dozen languages, and asked the Hulk a question that he caught less than half of. 

" _Confortável,_ " the Hulk answered. Rafael smiled and adjusted the framework holding the plates. 

" _Melhor,_ " came the rumbled reply, and with a huff, the giant paled and began shrinking.

* * *

They moved to a normal work-week after that, with Bruce alternating wearing the two prototype briefs until they went to production. They were nothing to write home about: purple, comfortable, and would prevent a charge of indecent exposure no matter what form Bruce wore. (JARVIS prioritized them in the tower's laundry, so there was no washing-underwear-in-the-sink, but it was a near thing.)

But the pants? The pants were _fantastic._ Rafael had pointed out that fabric was woven, and by altering the properties of the thread used in the warp and weft they could control how the garment would expand. They ended up with just one cut, a flattering high-waisted slack that screamed 1950's science geek for Dr. Banner that stretched to a hip- and thigh-hugging pair of surf shorts when the Hulk came out. There was even a range of colors, from a lavender that could almost pass as dove-grey to a purple as dark as the shine on a beetle's shell. Tony commissioned more than one matching suit jacket.

* * *

Months later, Tony couldn't regret it when the Mark 26 lost the CFDA for superhero costume design (although three-in-a-row would have been _awesome_ ). Instead, it went to Mr. Martin, senior designer for Tom Ford, for his work on the Hulk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * CFDA: [Council of Fashion Designers of America](http://cfda.com)
>   * Brass Rat: Nickname for the MIT class ring. Everyone gets the same ring, and the design changes little from year-to-year, making them an easy way to identify an MIT grad.
>   * Course 3: Materials Science  & Engineering (major) at MIT
>   * Killian Court: The grassy area surrounded by buildings 1-4 & 10 at MIT. Commencement (graduation) is held here. 
>   * Oasis Elements: the marvel-specific elements found in orbitals D9 and D10 of the [Marvel Periodic Table of the Elements](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4344071)
>   * à vontade: Portuguese for "comfy" 
>   * Melhor: Portuguese for "better" or "best" 
> 



	2. Cotton and Linen (Isn't Utilitarian)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Ellidfics for [Captain America and the Girl in Trouble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2217837), which has become part of my personal head cannon for Steve Rodgers. This is a short and haunting story dealing with mature themes in a period-appropriate manner and I admire both the quality of the writing and the courage it must have taken to publish it.
> 
> Also dedicated to to [La Temperanza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza%22) who is a deity of formatting, and who clued me in to a work-around for adding emoji to stories using CSS. She has written multiple formatting guides, each one addressing a single - often fandom specific - "how to," and I am richer for it.

The sleepwear Steve arrived with from SHIELD was terrible: rough cotton-poly knit, sewn with nylon thread. They were unflattering, uncomfortable, and cheap. Steve never complained, but his body language was so clear he didn't have to. After two weeks of watching him grab a cup of coffee in the common kitchen before starting his morning exercise routine, Tony couldn't take it any more. Just being in the same room with those pants was making his own legs itch.

Tony was working with JARVIS on a plan to accidentally burn them when the AI reported that "Captain Rogers is no longer wearing the offending articles." He wouldn't tell Tony what Steve _was_ sleeping in, noting that it would be a violation of privacy and, "if he wanted you to know, Sir, the Captain would have issued an invitation to his bedroom."

Yeah. Right. Steve was from a time when men still touched, if only because the concept of homosexuality was so far removed from day-to-day life as to be unthinkable. But, Tony had been flirting for _months_ , some out of reflex, more from genuine interest, and all Steve thought he wanted was to _be friends_.

Seriously? He was looking for the super soldier filling to a Tony-and-Pepper sandwich.

Watching Pepper flirt with him was even more painful. Steve would blush and stammer, but act as if she both didn't quite mean it and she was trying to cheat on Tony _at the same time_. His cautiously worded stand-by-your-man (with a side of if you're not happy, DTMFA) speeches in response were only hilarious the first time. Protip: when a man's girlfriend is flirting with you while the man in question ogles you both? That's an invitation for a three-way tango.

Steve hadn't even sent back the RSVP with his regrets.

* * *

So they, along with every TV enabled human over the age of 3, watched him. (Although the 3-13 set were probably watching for different reason, and the over-13 crowd could only wish for the sight of a half-awake, half-dressed Steve in the common kitchen.)

Just because he'd resigned himself to watching, Tony didn't stop flirting. He hadn't stopped flirting when he was dying from palladium poisoning and he wasn't going to stop for anything short of that. But it did mean that when he caught Steve in a white tank and running shorts that fit his impossible waist perfectly but were indecently _short_ on a man his height, his wolf-whistle was a sign of pure appreciation. And the subsequent, if flippant, offer of new clothes was only 5%, 10% max, because he'd like to personally measure the man's inseam.

"Catching a little air there, Cap? Unless you're heart's set on giving the good people of New York a show, I could hook you up with something more _fitting_."

"No Tony," Steve answered. It was insultingly automatic.

"C'mon Spangles, I did it for Bruce."

"And you somehow missed the team meeting where Agent Hill reviewed the cost of the Avenger's Initiative for the quarter. Bruce's pants were a line item Tony. _A line item._ " Steve scolded.

"Fine," he said, "Off-the-rack. But in a size that at least fits you? I'm buying."

"Of course you are." Was that a sigh? Did an American Icon just sigh pointedly in his direction? "Nothing I wouldn't buy for myself, all right?"

* * *

So they weren't something that Steve would have bought for himself, but Tony did use restraint. He had tons of restraint. That's why there were no 1940's styled, button-front silk pajamas from Derek Rose. Or cashmere dressing gowns. Or lace.

Still, the running shorts were custom sized (they had a standard tag in them, and JARVIS would intercept any and all future orders stars-and-stripes placed so that 'medium' would continue to fit). The loungewear was from La Perla, long and lean enough for that exquisite body. At first glance it was nothing fancy, hell, in the box the cotton and linen jersey had _looked_ like the cheap gray pajamas Steve had brought with him. Well, it did if you ignored fabric quality, cut, stitching, and just about everything else.

Tony hoped that was enough to satisfy Steve.

* * *

Steve wore them into the common kitchen the very next day.

Tony nearly drooled as he watched Steve through half closed eyes over his first cup of coffee. The super-soldier was cracking eggs shirtless, having foregone both the matching top and the white cotton tank he'd worn before. He was standing in front of the island, swaying lightly on his feet, unconsciously rubbing himself against the fabric and clearly delighting in the friction as it caught and slipped against his smooth thighs and the sparse golden hair on his calves.

Tony had a few pairs of the same pants tucked into his closet for ski retreats (where something slightly thicker and warmer than pure silk was called for) and 'ski' retreats (where they held up beautifully on the floor of the chalet). The unbidden though of laying Steve out on a fur rug in front of the fire, as he had been laid out the last time he wore them, had Tony choking on his coffee.

"Mr. Stark," Steve said, his 1940's manners stiff and formal in Tony's cutting edge kitchen, "are you alright?"

"Mmm - I'm fine Cap," Tony called out, gulping the last of his drink, "something wrong with your shirt?"

The captain turned back to his eggs and blushed; Tony watched it creep around the back of his neck and down between perfect shoulders as Steve stuttered out an explanation.

"I, er, that is, I don't like the sleeves. They're too tight on my arms." Tony just took in those arms, acknowledging his casual lechery with a raised eyebrow when Steve shot an incredulous look back over his shoulder.

"Playboy. Right," Steve muttered into his mixing bowl, seeming to _get it_ for the first time, "and, well, the A-shirts I have are itchy. Besides, Thor doesn't wear shirts." The last was added with more than a touch of defensiveness. Holy Shit. It wasn't often he was reminded how _young_ Steve was.

"No worries Cap. JARVIS - get the man some tank tops. Turkish cotton. The usual supplier." No need to specify the smallest size Steve would find comfortable. JARVIS knew Tony's taste as well as the billionaire did, and sometime better.

There was a small _ping_ as JARVIS acknowledged his request in a way Steve would be comfortable with. The AI had a soft spot for him (well, all the Avengers) a mile wide.

"Mr. Stark, I couldn't..." Steve protested, but Tony cut him off.

"Nonsense, it's only sleepwear. I want you to be comfortable here. Besides, you can pay me back by sharing your pancakes."

"Quick crepes, Mr. Stark," Steve corrected - and didn't all the 'Mr. Starks' go straight to Tony's cock - "I was going to fill them with the leftover turkey."

"Po-tae-to, po- _tah_ -to," Tony said, intent on refilling his mug. A few sips in there was enough caffeine in his bloodstream to kickstart higher brain functions. "Is there enough for Pepper too?"

Steve nodded.

"Great! I'll let her know." Tony fished his StarkPhone out of the front pocket of his silk dressing gown, and surreptitiously took a picture of Steve as he wandered behind the kitchen island. (It would have been better if he'd bent over it, but even _Tony Stark_ couldn't have everything.) Tony sent it to Pepper along with a short message.

**_Breakfast is served_**

The reply came in seconds.

**YUM**

(warning)(award winning)(American)(peach)

And then the reason he loved that woman with all of his heart (arc-reactor included).

**JARVIS just ordered him undershirts. Shall I arrange a shipping delay?**

**_You are the Lovelace to my Babbage_**

**I know**

**Will that be all, Mr. Stark?**

His reply included another picture, this time of Steve in (glorious) profile as he breathed in the aroma from a new cup of coffee.

**That will be all, Ms. Potts**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * [La Perla Lounge Style Long Trouser](http://www.laperla.com/us/uscfilpd0019878.html), Linen and Cotton 
>   * DTMFA: "dump the mother-fucker already" 
>   * A-shirt: short for "athletic shirt" this is a more 1940's way of talking about a tank top or "wife beater" 
>   * _"the Lovelace to my Babbage"_ refers to Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage. Lovelace wrote the first "computer code" for Babbage's Analytical Engine (which he never got working). In sending this Tony is both agreeing, and praising Pepper for doing one better than him.
>   * _"I know"_ is THE Star Wars reference. It's perhaps harking to Leia's callback in Return of the Jedi more than Han in Empire, but then, who doesn't love a prepared woman with a concealed blaster and great aim?
>   * The text bubbles and emoji were accomplished with a custom workskin -- La_Temperanza has expanded into [this tutorial about iOS text bubbles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845)
> 



	3. Purple Silk and Classy Heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Juane_Chat for [Iron Hard Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/470378). This story planted the idea that Tony could be both Iron Man and an unrepentant pervert - aided and abetted by JARVIS - in my head. The idea that JARVIS has a _wicked_ side started here, and is now my personal canon for the AI.

"Swear to god, Stark, keep your damned mouth shut," Hawkeyes growled through the coms. Despite Amora's spell having melted every synthetic material off of his body, he retained a pair of very tight cotton briefs, an impressive tan line at his his shoulders, and leather shooting gloves. It was enough to continue fighting.

Tony was the only one high enough up to see what had happened. Strictly speaking, he _should_ call it in to Hill, because Clint _shouldn't_ be fighting unarmored, and Iron Man was perfectly capable of herding Skurge alone, but... 

God damn look at those muscles. He came to a halt in mid air, just watching as Clint drew back to send another blast tipped arrow down behind the executioner.

"Aw, cupid, what's in it for me?" Tony mock-whined, firing a off a few more repulser blasts in support.

"I'll follow after action protocol to the letter." 

"Done." 

After action protocol dictated that they debrief _immediately_ after all life-threatening injuries were tended to. At the very least at at least a dozen agents would squabble to get to, err... _debrief_ Clint, the widow would glare them into submission, and another round of highly entertaining rumors would start about their relationship. At best? Hawkeye would his report to the shield brass in nothing but those tighty-whities.

Yeah, that was worth the chewing out he's sure to get from the star-spangled Boy Scout. So, so worth it.

* * *

Unfortunately, it turned out that standard procedure for clothes-dissolving magic was full decontamination. And - either because someone had thought about it in advance, or because the SHIELD mobile support team was staffed with sadists - the same procedure held for anyone who'd had 'intimate secondary contact.'

He'd just carried the archer to a new lookout, for fucks sake. He still had his metal suit, ergo, he was fine. Besides, JARVIS had already completed the standard panel of scans, and a good number of the more esoteric ones, and turned up absolutely nothing. It was magic; a one-shot-deal, and it was over. Despite the evidence, and his protests that this was completely unnecessary, SHIELD would not budge.

Fortunately, when your suit had full bio-seals, going through decontamination meant letting others scrub you down. (Rather than getting intimately acquainted with the gross orange soap. That smell would be under Clint's fingernails for weeks.) This left plenty of time for talking though the pros and cons of various lingerie styles with JARVIS while using the HUD to super-impose said styles on a not-so-tragically naked archer.

They both agreed that Clint was an autumn, and that the deep plums suited him best. Which ruled out almost everything in a mens brief that could be obtained in the next forty minutes.

* * *

"Quit staring at me, Shellhead," Clint complained half way into baking their way though the not-quite-UV light treatment.

"But I've only got four more minutes to decide," Tony whined back. "Otherwise the courier will never make it in time to switch out your scrubs for something that's as valuable as my silence during the battle was."

"Our deal was that I would follow protocol to the letter."

" _I am altering the deal_ " Tony boomed, as he hoped that JARVIS would be on top of the voice modulator. " _Pray I don't alter it any further._ " From the way Clint paled, and then heaved with mirth, JARVIS had come through. 

"This deal keeps getting worse all the time," Clint stuttered through the laughter still shaking his frame.

Tony would have taken Clint more seriously if he'd either a) offered a real complaint, or b) actually gotten that out without having to stop for breath several times. 

"So what am I in for?"

"JARVIS, prep the top three on the HUD? Cupid, stand up and give me a good runway strut?"

Clint settled into an amused grin. "Not my usual sort of catwalk, but I'm cool," he said, adding in a moment later, "only you would use a HUD to _clothe_ people."

"And aren't you lucky?" Tony leered, only half out of reflex. The other, greater, half was due to the sight of Clint stalking down an imaginary runway. Older and more scarred than Steve, has body owned the I-will-fuck-you-up strut he'd adopted.

Tony was never so glad that he'd left room for autonomous reactions in his suit.

Given that Clint was on-board, he abandoned the "wine dark" Calvin Klein briefs for more exotic fare. Derek Rose? Nah. Tony was going to take this one to eleven. A quick size consult with JARVIS as the archer 'struck a pose' and Tony's final selection was purchased and on it's way. 

"We're good Katniss. The gamemakers have determined your score," Tony said. He was grateful for the privacy the voice modulator offered because he was _this close_ to altering the deal again. 

"Thank you for your consideration," Clint gloated with a gratuitous hip wiggle.

"I'd certainly _consider_ you, but Pepper says I'm not allowed unless she gets to watch. So I'll have to settle for showing her pictures your ass in purple silk. Oh, and the expression Fury'll make when he sees it."

"You share those pictures with me tin-man, and I'll strut though there in five inch heels like a boss."

Ok, _now_ Tony'd never been so glad he left room in the suit. "JARVIS?"

"Already done sir. Ms. Romanoff has agreed to fetch Mr. Barton's shoes." OK - maybe Tony was happier with having a hemet to hide his expressions, because he would never have lived down gaping at _Hawkeye_.

"They'd better be classy, Barton," he said.

Clint just laughed.

* * *

Journelle came through; "raisin" Madame Aime silk briefs, trimmed in black lace and - thanks to JARVIS's initiative - a short kimono top in in a silk chiffon so sheer you could hardly tell it was supposed to be black. Natasha had snuck the lot into SHIELD, including a pair of matte black leather heels with a thick-but-tasteful strap at the ankle and lipstick in a matching shade of plum. Clint shimmied into it all without hesitation, pursing his lips and batting eyelashes at Natasha so she could apply just enough makeup to make him look both more masculine and more fuckable.

No-one was foolish enough to ask what had happened to the scrubs.

And Clint _pwned_ the look. He was 100% _male_ in panties that could almost be demure - they certainly covered a generous cock - if it hadn't been for the peek-a-boo cutout at the base of his spine, held shut by the tiniest of silk covered buttons. Or for a top so transparent it begged you to stare at the musculature beneath. And the heels. God. the heels. The soles were worn in - these were obviously a favourite - and Clint's stride was eerily like that of Pepper as she crossed a boardroom. Even wearing improbably high heels it was perfectly obvious he could rip out your heart and make you eat it. 

"I'm going to need more than stills," Tony murmured for JARVIS's hearing only. The AI must have reached this conclusion long before Tony, because he immediately informed his creator that not only were all of the cameras in the suit recording, he was syncing the relevant SHIELD security footage to his private server. 

"I've taken the liberty of copying all video to the mainframe in Mr. Barton's rooms," JARVIS added over open channels.

"Good man," Tony praised, as Clint blew a kiss to the camera at the end of the hallway and Nat actually smiled. This was the best debrief ever and they were still on the other end of the building from the conference room where Agent and Fury waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal head canon is that SHIELD requires you to know how to do what you'll be asking trainees/Jr. Agents to do. So if they're going to have to do it "backwards and in high heels" as Ginger Rogers would say, then... well... Clint ends up being able to run and shoot in a pair of strappy heels. (Coulson, of course, has a much more sedate, upscale, pair of court shoes in his closet.)
> 
> And Nat totally texted the whole thing to Laura. Because.


	4. 100% Natrual (Lest it be False)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Ladygrey99 for [Scientists and Saints](http://archiveofourown.org/works/489525). For a beautiful view of the idea, and I quote, "that Thor is the Pepper to Jane's Tony." And to The Internet for never letting this image of Thor at the tailor's (from Amazing Spider-Man (Vol. 1) #502: ["You Want Pants With That"](http://www.spiderfan.org/comics/reviews/spiderman_amazing/502.html)) die.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

Tony had seen enough to almost internalise that Thor wasn't human. Almost. But this might be the thing that tipped him over the edge.

"Hammer Time, are you sniffing panties in the middle of my media room?"

"Aye." Good god, that _was_ Thor. Open acknowledgement of the strangest things without a hint of shame. As if doing so was commonplace. Perhaps in Asgard, it was. And then Tony noticed what was on the screen.

"Is that _Contact_?"

"Aye. I find the struggles of Dr. Arroway parallel those of my Lady Jane. Watching it is of great comfort when we must part."

Tony took a close look at the greyish-white underthings Thor was clutching. They were full-bottomed, with a little bow on the front waistband, and the nylon thread holding on the leg elastic was frayed into wispy puffs in more than one place. 

"Stop me if I've got this wrong, but you're watching a movie that's practically the story of your lady-love's career while fondling her underthings."

"You are correct, Man of Iron."

"And this isn't weird at all to you?"

"Do not lovers on Midgard exchange tokens of fidelity? Before departing for her conclave of scientists Jane petitioned me for several undershirts and the Handmaiden Darcy beseeched me to include the 'molest-me-now' blue sweater."

"Alright then. Foster took your clothes and left you with... those." Tony couldn't even come up with a better description of the greying granny-panties. 

"Nay." Now Thor looked sad. "Having escorted her to the airport, I returned to my chambers to discover a most fetching box. Arrayed within, cradled in the most delicate of paper, she had bestowed remembrances upon me for whilst we tide apart. But, alas! When I lifted the first free it was naught but false fabric and falser scent. Though most enchanting when worn by my Lady, when parted from her it became as hollow as my heart."

"JARVIS, translation?"

"Sir, what I believe Mr. Odinson is trying to convey is that the ... _gifts_ left by Dr. Foster were synthetic material, washed in conventional detergent. It is likely that the petroleum based fragrance in the detergent had chemically bonded with the fabric."

"Your steward speaks true."

"So you went and raided her underwear drawer?"

"The handmaiden Darcy would well live up to her title of shield sister had such an ignoble thought found purchase in my breast." Tony breathed a sigh of relief - and then Thor continued: "I selected these from amongst the cast offs upon the floor of her dressing chamber."

"Woah! TMI there Shakespeare. T-M-I." Tony spluttered, taking much longer than he liked to recover himself. "Okay, so this is your thing, and I'm not judging, but wasn't there anything there that was still it's original colour?"

"Aye. But though Midgard produces many a wonder, it seems as though only garments unfit for a thrall are woven of true fibres," Thor mourned. "When I sought to clothe her in the finest of the Vanir silks, she stop'd me short with her tongue. 'Shall I?' said she, 'dress myself in silks and lace while my devices go wanting? Nay, sweet prince, fetch me instead the works of your scribes, and sit with me by firelight as we partake of their knowledge.'"

"I'm pretty sure that's not what she said."

"Man of Iron, your insight is great, and yet, I would not seek to belittle you generosity with the heated words of a lovers quarrel."

"JARVIS?"

"Recoded in the common kitchen, Tuesday morning: 'I've never wasted money on a scrap of lace before, and just because Stark's bankrolling the lab doesn't mean I'm starting now.' Pitch and inflection indicate that Dr. Foster was quite agitated at the time. Shall I playback the full conversation?"

"Ouch, J, no. I think we both got it."

Thor hadn't moved from his armchair, so when Tony fell silent, he just went back to watching the still-playing film. It was clear he not moving unless Tony was a hell of a lot blunter than he had been; or if he was presented with an alternate solution. Tony sat down to work, an empty seat between them (thank-you-very-much), and after a short time tapping away at his table he and JARVIS had one.

"Point Break, have you tried taking her to Nieman Marcus?"

"Who is this Mr. Marcus of which you speak?"

"Not who. What. It's a department store over by Bryant Park. Everything from copper pots to cotton panties."

"I have visited the Walmart of Puente Antiguo, my friend, and it did not yield a single item worthy of my Jane. Your Nieman Marcus sounds much the same; besides, I doubt that any save the ateliers of Vanahiem could do her justice."

"Yes, but the ateliers of Vaneheim are right out, by the lady's own words. So are silk and lace. Meaning you're stuck with the fabric of our lives." Tony paused to accurately sketch Jane's light curves in the air with his hands. (What could he say? 3-D modelling was a gift of his.) "Now, she's petite, but not curvy, so I'd go soft and clingy. Avoid the bras. Maybe one of the stretchy Hanro camisoles, they do some with a cotton lace and matching panties. 

"Now," Tony continued before Thor could cut in, "If Jane's anything like Steve, as long as it's in a familiar environment - like a department store - and she doesn't see how much it costs, you'll get away with it. I'm thinking private shopping spree, no crowds, no tags. Maybe dinner first, glass or four of wine, and we'll slip some quality in under her radar."

"Your plan has great merit. My lady's heart resides among the stars and I fear she oft neglects more earthly concerns. 'Tis why I rejoice Darcy shall accompany her unto this conclave."

"I'm pretty sure 'this conclave' is the Solvay Conference, Point Break. Convened early for and chaired by Dr. Jane Foster. They'll feed her."

"I do not doubt that she shall be celebrated, but without coaxing she is as like to teach as to nourish her form. I would attend upon her myself, but I am loathe to have my presence draw attention away from her well-earned accolades. And yet, the knowledge of how faultless my absence may be does little to soothe the ache in my breast."

"Good on you, Hammer Time, women love a man capable of introspection. Or so I'm told. I seem to have gotten on fine without it. Anyway. J? Stop the film." The room fell silent as the projection stopped, leaving only the dull glow of the white screen. "Now, JARVIS has the full Nieman Marcus catalog, and he can help you find something you'll both love and ensure they have it ready for you lovebirds. So just tuck that 'remembrance' in a pocket - they're kinda private here on Midgaurd - and skedaddle back to your rooms, or Jane's, and think about what you'd rather see her in."

"You are a true prince of Midgard, Antony Stark, and you have my gratitude. It is as you advise; I shall retire to the Lady Jane's chambers and ponder upon that which you and you mechanical steward have presented me." Thor declared. He suited action to words, not even righting the recline of his chair before leaving.

Tony was halfway out the door after the demigod when a stray thought hit him harder than Moljönr. "Thor, buddy, please tell me you had your shirts laundered before you gave them to Jane...?" There was only a chuckle in reply, and Tony called out plaintively, "J- make a note. I need to have Foster talk to the big guy about keeping their private life private."

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS dead panned, and Tony knew the AI was laughing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Tony doesn't have to buy anything for Thor because he's the crown prince of Asgaurd. That man is already walking around with his jewels swaddled in the finest of Vanir silk. 
>   * [Hanro Lace Trimmed Tank Top and Cotton Briefs](http://www.neimanmarcus.com/Hanro-Eva-Lace-Trim-Seamless-Tank-Floral-Embroidered-Full-Briefs/prod186190073/p.prod?focusProductId=prod185390897) at Nieman Marcus
>   * Hanro also has a [ flagship store in Manhatten](https://shop.hanrousa.com/hanro-ny-retail-store/), which Thor will not be taking Dr. Foster to for the reasons given.
>   * [The Solvay Conference](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solvay_Conference) is a real thing. They generally meet every three years, if there's something worth talking about. Dr. Foster's work is worth talking about NOW.
>   * Thor's paraphrasing of Jane is pseudo-iambic pentameter and partially ripped off of the speech of Leonato in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing when he seeks to decisive Benedict into thinking Beatrice is in love with him. Once the "shall I?" occurred to me I had it penned before I realised it was a pale imitation of the bard ... Oh well.
> 



	5. Chantilly Lace and a 9mm Pistol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not dedicated to anyone, because I've yet to find the Black Window story - including this one - that does Natasha the justice she deserves. (Also, she's a really hard character to pin down.)

The ladies, Natasha and Pepper, started the morning at La Perla. 

Tony started the morning, if you can call the time before the sun rises 'morning,' with a call to assemble because robotic frogs were heading up the Hudson. New York's commuters were still in their pj's when Tony lured frogs out of yet another transformer yard, taking shameless advantage of their fixation on his repulsors. And then, at the moment things seemed under control, they got the other half of the news: the first of the croakers had reached the Indian Point Nuclear Plant.

It wasn't a fight where Hawkeye and Black Window shone, so they headed back to the tower. Someone had to issue notifications and coordinate switching hospitals over to the arc reactor's power grid. Strangely, 'Oh, we might have rolling brown outs if we SCRAM the plant,' tended to go over better if an Avenger called.

OK, so Natasha started the morning with the same shit he did.

Still, right now she was in one of the finest lingerie boutiques in the city, while he played Pied Piper to a googleplex of metallic amphibians in some hellish suburb. The pictures of him, Thor, Cap and the frogs would be all over the tabloids for days. And as an Internet meme after that. Tony and JARVIS - being forward thinking individuals - were already working on subtitles over their private comm line.

None of this negated that Tony had intended to spend his morning on a comfortable chair while the two most beautiful ladies in his life modeled lingerie. Ladies? Lady? He wasn't sure if he was going to get to _see_ Natasha in anything, but she _had_ been the one to demand he buy it for her. Something about how he'd already done it for Clint. She'd even gone so far as to invite Pepper, and he could still see their red hair - bright and dark - as they leaned close over a tablet planning their itinerary.

Instead, Tony got to spend four hours walking - walking! - the croakers over to a smelting plant. No feminine giggles (neither the CEO of Stark International or the Black Widow were the giggling sort, but a man could dream) just the chorus of synthesized frog sound. And finally, the hiss of melting metal bodies.

Tony probably set a new speed record for the Mark 23 getting back. He certainly set one for the time it took to go from Iron Man to Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist. Sharp as hell, from his shades to his shoes, he set out to join the ladies. 

Disappointment threatened to overwhelm him when he learned he'd missed them at La Perla (viewing security recordings was never the same), but JARVIS hadn't finished his report on the situation. 

"-stopped for brunch, and then are headed to _Kiki de Montparnasse_. They request you meet them at the restaurant."

Oh. Tony could work with that. He could _so_ work with that. And, _damn_ , he was still going to owe Natasha when this was over. He'd been trying to persuade Pepper, unsuccessfully, to go with him to Kiki's for _years_. 

* * *

Tony hadn't realized how hungery he'd been until he started eating: tiny folded french omelettes filled with creamed spinach, or crab, or wine-drunk mushrooms; blueberries so plump you'd think it was May, artisan sausage and mimosas. All the mimosas. 

* * *

Belly pleasantly full, and drowsy with food and drink, Tony hummed with contentment as Pepper settled him into a chaise longue in the dressing chamber at _Kiki's_ , then perched on the edge, 4-inch heels firmly on the ground, and pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her e-mail.

Meanwhile, Natasha took command of the troop of salesclerks with all of the efficency he usually admired during a fight. At her orders they spread through the store, returning laden with piles of impossibly fine black lace. Natasha inspected each item silently, adding only those she approved of to a delicate bronze garment rack, and dismissed the clerks.

"I've got your things," Pep said, looking up from the screen to hand over the cream leather handbag she'd been toting all through brunch. Tony's curiosity was roused; it was as large as a small overnight bag and while he was certain there were shoes in there (there were always shoes with Pepper), but she'd said _'things'_...

His mistake, it turned out, was in limiting himself to shoes and lingerie. There were no doubt message boards devoted to photoshopping the Black Widow into nothing but weaponry and SHIED-issued shit-kicker boots, but Tony certainly never expected the real thing to be standing in front of him, giving a slow turn, and shyly looking for feedback.

"Natalie," Pepper chided in her CEO voice, "I don't think that bustier works with your knives at all, and the thong lacks _presence_. You have to dress for the job."

"Yes, Ma'am." Natsh- _Natalie_ replied. Tony nearly pinched himself to check he wasn't dreaming. He was pretty sure that Pep had shot down his CEO-and-assistant fantasy hard the first (and only) time he'd dared to bring it up. Apparently she was only into the CEO side of things.

"What do you think, Mr. Stark?" came the cool question. It snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked, really looked, at the sight in front of him.

"The balance is off," he said, trying to loose himself in the game the ladies had invited him to play, "a more even gradient would enhance the flow. I agree completely with your assessment on the thong: I'm thinking if you want to keep the harnesses it'd have to be boyshorts and a bandeau. Mirror the straps. Ms. Potts?"

"Agreed. Ms. Rushman, if you would?"

A moment later 'Natalie' reappeared. The knives, thong, and bustier were replaced with a her usual thigh holster and an art-deco inspired bra-and-panty set: sheer gauze was held together with silk wrapped ribs in a striking radial pattern. Tony felt himself responding, and responding more when Pepper evaluated the bulge in his trousers with the same same steady gaze she'd held on Natalie.

"Now that is stunning," Pepper praised, "but we have to remember your audience and _dress for the job._ What sort of example is it going to set if everyone else is in floral lace and you show up in that modernist beauty?"

Tony had nothing to add. Pepper waved Natalie off, waiting until they were alone and the soft sounds of silk against skin came from behind the heavy drapes before she turned and straddled him. Tony found his hair fisted in a shockingly tight grip his hair as she kissed him like she owned his mouth. 

"Mr. Stark," she said, all reproof when he tried to grind against her, "You need to control yourself; we're here to help Natalie."

Pepper turned back to the fitting rooms, ignoring his arousal even as she remained perched in his lap. In a voice more suited to high-stakes mergers she called out, "Are you ready to present?"

Natalie was. This time she wore a skintight bodysuit slit to below the navel in a black Chantilly lace with her Widow's Bites and wicked knife on each thigh. Pepper walked her through a dozen poses; pointing out the pros and cons in her CEO voice as Tony did his best not ruin Pepper's plans or come in his pants. In the end, despite the floral toile pattern, it was deemed 'too severe' and 'unacceptable' by his CEO. 

The next outfit was obviously _it_. Natasha stepped out in her boots (the hilt of her favorite carbonadum blade peeking out of the left one), a concealed carry holster supporting her bare breasts and holding a - _holy fuck_ \- holding a vintage _Stark Silhouette 9mm_ , black silk panties, and a cropped kimono top in the same Chantilly lace as before. 

"Oh, my," breathed Pepper, clearly aroused, "That is perfect my dear, absolutely perfect. Form, material, execution. Perfect." Pepper continued with the praise until Tony interrupted with a wolf whistle.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" Pepper asked in the pause that followed. While he was fixated on the blush creeping across Natasha's cheeks - _how the fuck did she have that under conscious control?_ \- In his peripheral vision Tony saw Pepper's lips curved into a wicked grin. 

"No, Ms. Potts," Tony nearly growled. "If you'll _ride_ back with me, I believe we need to discuss several outstanding agenda items."

"Certainly, Mr. Stark. Thank you Natalie, please have it charged to the card on file."

"My pleasure, Ms. Potts," the once-again Black Widow purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * [Chantilly Lace Kimono Robe](http://kikidm.com/lounge/robes/lace-kimono-red.html) by Kiki de Montparnasse. This one's in red because it has better photos, but it also comes in black.
> 



	6. That's Not from Around Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Axilef for [To be Lost and Found Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/775032). This first time Tony-as-a-woman wormed itself into my brain and wouldn't leave. Even unfinished, I think it's a really lovely and compelling post-civil-war piece that deserves a read. I would like to credit it, and the 80's punk movement, as the seed of the idea that became Tony's alter ego Victoria "Tory" Slaite.
> 
> Also dedicated to Raliena for [The Hawk's View](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4284324), also unfinished. This story cemented the idea that Tony, not under his real name, is a registered architect. I had originally considered having Tory go Course 11 (Urban Studies) or Course 8 (Physics), but 11 was small and 8 had so few women; 'she' would have stuck out like a sore thumb. This story reminded me that Course 4 (Architecture) was a historically 'female' field where she could blend in. In the early 1980's MIT undergrads were only about 25% women (Caltech was about 1/2 that), but the architecture department (Course 4) had gender parity.

> _Victoria Slaite, AIA, graduated from MIT with a BA in Architecture in 1986. Her earliest employment was with Donovan Architectural in Billings, MT while living off-the-grid near the Red Rock Lakes. It was there Slaite established herself as a name American Architecture with her designs for the Stark Mansion in Malibu, CA. She is most commonly known as the architect of 92-story Stark Tower in Manhattan and for her pioneering work in Mutant Ergonomics._
> 
> _Slaite credits both her degree and her fame to her connection with Tony Stark. She met Mr. Stark at MIT, where she worked as his typist and assistant until her graduation. After her mutant status was outed as part of the Humans First! 'Know your neighbour' campaign in 1984, Slaite was disowned by her family. Mr. Stark funded the remainder of her education and commissioned her with the design of his Malibu home. In response, the scandal sheets have identified her as his secret lover, bastard half-sister, and/or a robot._
> 
> _Despite Slaite's reclusiveness, her high-profile architecture work has put her repeatedly in the public eye. As a result, she is credited as a founder of contemporary mutant fashion, pioneering the the blend of modern Arabian and early 19th century British Empire favoured by mutants with touch-activated powers. She has appeared inconsistently in the Power 100 list by Surface magazine, with six mentions in the last 20 years; it is widely believed that a wider public presence would raise her to the standing of Yoko Ono and other perennial members._
> 
> _**\-- Famous Mutants: Making it in the Unevolved World, pg 74.** _

Tony Stark liked corsets. Why shouldn't he? They were _engineered_ underwear. They've given him the illusion of a waist and hips when he walked a documentary crew through his tower as it's lead designer, Victoria Slaite. And, when the time came, fooled SHIELD as 'she' met with them during the re-design of he top floors into Avenger's headquarters.

He remembered Tory's first - a simple affair of black satin lined in cotton voile - clearly. He got it because all too soon puberty would shape him into a man. He got it from Peggy's shop down in the lower East Side, because she never spoke about her clients. He got it because the physical constriction needed to pull off Victoria Slaite was nothing compared to the mental constriction of being the heir to Stark Industries; and he wasn't ready to let her go.

Decades later, After Afghanistan, _Tony Stark_ commissioned _his_ first corsets from a fifth-generation Italian craftsman. Stitched from the same summer-weight wool as the suits they were to be worn with, they bound bruised ribs in place more effectively than any tape while the bone around the arc reactor and his other lingering wounds healed. He'd armored himself in it; the stays holding him tall and strong against the press. 

Since becoming Iron Man, wearing his bespoke corsets along with his bruises enabled him to sit through more than one board of director's meeting.

(Back when he used to show up with a drink in one hand and a member of the Swedish bikini team in the other, he'd choosen the most uncomfortable chairs available for the boardroom. They _looked_ fantastic, but, as planned, meetings always adjourned in under ninety minutes. Swapping them out for something comfortable would mean admitting what he did, and that was never happening. Corsets were.) 

His measurements were on file with the half dozen fashion houses that did his suits, and these days Peggy came to him in a discreet black car, but Tony was still the only one who bought himself the soft silk undershirts and heavily boned undergarments. When his paramours or one-night-stands did gift him with silk underthings, the were repurposed into lint-free rags for use in his electronics clean room or JARVIS's server core.

* * *

"Mr. Stark, the crew from Good Morning America are going to be here in less than thee hours and you're still in a suit."

"Pepper-" he whined. 

"They've been hounding Ms. Slaite for months. It's not my fault _you_ agreed," she cut him off, then paused and collected herself. "Finish this up. I need _Ms. Slaite_ in Malibu yesterday."

He wasn't sure why he agreed to meet with the media; but better to do so now than have someone try to crash the Malibu-based review session for the net-zero modular housing he'd commissioned from himself months ago. 

* * *

Tony showered, shaved, and shaved again. He was headed for the dumbwaiter, towel low slung low around his hips, to see what outfit JARVIS had sent up when Pepper tutted at him. 

"Your clothes are on the bed, Mr. Stark," she said. 

He looked. He'd never seen them before, but they were perfect. 

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," he replied, bussing her cheek and pinching her butt as he passed by. She slapped his ass in return, Extremis giving her the strength to land a smack he'd feel for hours. 

"Ms. Slaite," she warned him, "You'll find that for the next 12 hours, until we land in Malibu, that I am the CEO and you are the architectural consultant."

Tony laughed and dropped the towel, both so she could see the red impression of her hand and to start dressing. First a high-necked silk undershirt and matching briefs in a thick midnight blue. Then the matching brocade corset. The laces were just slack enough Tony could close the brass fittings himself. Once clasped, Pepper tugged it into place with practiced fingers, aligning the curves with his frame. 

Tony gripped the wrought iron railing on the balcony looking over the penthouse lounge as he presented his back to Pepper. All too soon he could see the room illuminated by flickers of Extremis's orange light as she called on it to pull the lacing tight. So very tight.

"Exhale," she ordered, and her next tug forced the air out faster than he'd intended in an undignified whuff. "Good girl." 

"You realise that I could just be a woman, right? That," he waved an arm at the whole setup, "all this is unnecessary?"

"Are you questioning my assistance, Ms. Slaite?" 

"Not at all, Ms. Potts. Not at all."

"Smart. Exhale."

* * *

He turned to look at himself from all angles thanks to the mirrors in his dressing room; his waist was nipped in, giving the illusion of both a small bust and small hips and yet - even without using Extremis to slim down - no part of the corset cut into him. Pepper must have had it made to measure, something he'd never dared. Men's corsets, yes, but one for crossdressing? He didn't dare breathe a hint of that, lest anyone look to closely at the pictures of his college typist and realise that the barely-legal girl in punk leathers or headscarves was Tony himself. But _Pepper_ ; Pepper could procure anything, anywhere, without leaving a scent in the wind for the vultures that circled Tony and SI. 

Pepper was waiting for him when he emerged from the dressing room, hijab in her hands and makeup spread across his desk. Deft fingers arranged the cloth tightly around his face, securing it at the side of his face with a twisted brass brooch of the biohazard symbol fused into a trinity knot: **_mutant_**. Next came wide-legged pants in blue slate, and a cream colored caftan with a thick band of the same blue at the high-low hem.

He let Pepper's fingers mold his face: the Extremis within him responding to her touch by arching his brows and narrowing his chin. A blink later and he no longer needed the the gray contacts he used to wear behind stupidly thick-framed hipster glasses (although he still wore the glasses, they were part of Slaite's image.) Pepper did his eyes, lining them with a steady hand and applying powder with elegant long-handled brushes. Her delicate fingers buttoned cream gloves up to his elbows, and in the end no hint of Tony remained in the reclusive architect.

"You look beautiful, Ms. Slaite," Pepper praised him. She lifted his head into a kiss, holding him still with a single hand on his bound waist. "Let's get through this dog-and-pony show, and then you'll have six hours on the plane to _sell me_ on the merits of your modular housing."

"Yes Ma'am." Tony replied, cheekily, only to find another swat landed on his still smarting _cheek_. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about relaxing into a sofa as if he owned he place. Laughing, he let Pepper lead him into the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Peggy, of course, refers to [Peggy Bergstein](http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/22/fashion/the-corset-stays-the-course.html) of Orchard Corset. 
>   * References to come. All the references. 
> 


**Author's Note:**

> I had originally intended to illustrate this story: I'd say about 1/4 of the images I want to add are ready as of posting. And then I realized that I've been sitting on a fully written story for months because I was mucking about with the images. 
> 
> I fully intend to return to this and add them when they're done. Along with a Chapter 7: Bonus-Something-Something. So subscribe. It may be a month; it may be a year - but I'll keep drawing in my sketchpad, and working with Photoshop and Tayasui - until I get there. But I will get there, and then you will be notified.


End file.
